


lonely on that new shit

by harukatenoh



Series: we're on each other's team [4]
Category: DCU
Genre: Angst, Complicated Relationships, Gen, Resurrection, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:14:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22106872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harukatenoh/pseuds/harukatenoh
Summary: Lian Harper comes back from the dead. Actually, she's been back from the dead for a while.What actually happens is this: Lian Harper comes back home.
Relationships: Damian Wayne & Iris West II & Lian Harper, Iris West II & Damian Wayne, Lian Harper & Damian Wayne, Lian Harper & Iris West II
Series: we're on each other's team [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1567885
Kudos: 20





	lonely on that new shit

**Author's Note:**

> thnak you bea for ur constant support ily. also yeah im still on this titans 2.0 shit except were calling them tiny titans now bc ithink its funny. three chapters, each one of each tiny titans pov! have fun babes
> 
> work title from still sane by lorde

The first thing Damian thinks when he sees Lian Harper—flesh and blood and bone—for the very first time is  _ Richard is going to be so upset. _

The second thing he thinks is also  _ Richard is going to be so upset, _ except the thought is rearranged, reanalyzed, remixed. He takes the words and he pulls them apart and puts them back together and in doing so, he fully realizes the implications of that thought.

Thus, his third coherent and articulate thought after seeing Lian Harper walk into the room is  _ I have to kill this girl. _

He  _ has _ to, because Damian has endured several uniquely awful things during his lifetime, and the look that Richard gets on his face whenever he thinks of Lian still manages to be one of the worst. Richard is going to be devastated and Damian has dedicated a part of himself, although he will never admit it out loud, to making sure that happens as little as possible.

He opens his mouth, his thoughts snapping back and forth like a tree branch in a storm, and asks “How long have you been alive?”

Lian cocks her head and asks in response “Who the fuck are you?” 

It’s a diversion, and it does not work. 

Damian has trained under his mother and Richard and his father, and while the differences between those three far outweigh their similarities, this is what they do share: a predator’s gaze.  _ Eagle eyes. _ Lian cannot escape Damian’s gaze, and he picks up enough from her to know that the answer is  _ too long. _

Iris looks between the two of them, torn between sheer desperate happiness and confusion. Her hands are blurring as she fidgets, stepping one way and then the next, caught between Damian and Lian’s orbits. She sends a reproachful look to Damian. She sends a pleading one to Lian.

Iris does not get it. Iris does not understand the way this will reverberate, the way this changes  _ everything.  _ Damian looks at Iris, who is looking at Lian like she’s the sun risen after a ten-year-long darkness, and knows that she cannot possibly understand.

“You can’t possibly be on bad terms already,” Iris says, half a joke and half a warning. She is wringing her hands; a nervous habit, a restless habit. “I haven’t even made introductions yet,”

“You don’t need to,” Damian replies cooly. “This is the… formerly deceased Lian Harper.”

Lian smiles at him. It’s a cold expression. “Once again,” she says, words and wings clipped, “I ask, who the fuck are you?”

“Come on, Lian,” Iris says. It’s imploring and lecturing but above all, it is desperate, desperate like Damian has never seen her before. Iris tends to be remarkably confident, assured to the point of arrogance. Damian watches that all fall apart in the presence of this stranger in the room.

When Iris looks at Lian, she sees the moon and the stars and the sun, and she is blinded. It’s a weakness. One that Damian did not realize Iris possessed.

Iris looks back at Damian, and says, “This is Damian Wayne. He’s my teammate. He’s trustworthy.”

It stings, to be the person who has to be weighed up, deemed  _ trustworthy _ or not, when Damian has been the one working alongside Iris for years now, and Lian has been—gone. Dead. Hiding. The details do not matter. Lian has not been here, and Damian has, and this  _ stings _ and does not stop stinging.

Lian doesn’t say anything, watching Iris, and then Damian. There is tension in the room, as taut as a bow pulled back and with twice the pressure. 

Finally, Lian says, “Wayne,” carefully, considering. There is a look on her face that Damian cannot place.

It seems Iris can, however. She nods and sends Damian a look that is half-fond, and says “We’re all legacy kids,”

Damian bites back the immediate protest. This is not something to discuss with a ghost in the room, even though something inside of him twists and breaks at the notion of being a  _ legacy. _ He has had enough of legacies. Enough of growing up and being told where to direct his feet.

Lian says, not unkind but not gentle, “I don’t think I’m the same as you two.” 

Damian agrees. He does not want to, not particularly, but he agrees: his mind pulled kicking and screaming into concurrence.

Iris says “You could be. You are,” and Lian raises an eyebrow at her. 

At that moment, she’s not as cold. Still distant, still frozen, but wholly not as cold.

Iris smiles at Lian, something embarrassed and enamoured and deeply pleased. Lian does not smile back, but Iris beams anyway. 

Damian realizes, with a sinking feeling, that nothing he could ever do would make Iris look at him like that. Alright. He can suffice with that knowledge. It is a sentimental, coarse look to be on the receiving end of, and Damian can live without it. Of course he can. Richard is going to be the only person who ever looks at him like that, and Damian has been fortifying his walls all this time, preparing himself with the knowledge that he does not need that from anybody else. Not even his supposed teammate.

Lian says, with a mockery of kindness in her tone, “I don’t belong here, Irey,”

Finally, something of sense. Damian snaps, “That is quite right. It will be best if you go back to whichever grave you crawled out of,” and Lian whips her head around to look at him. 

She has them too. Predator’s eyes. Damian does not cower under them.

He stands up, hands clenched into fists to stop the sudden onset of trembling. He cannot show weakness, not in front of this intruder. 

Head held high, he turns around. He turns his back to her.

If Lian has any sense, any worth at all, she will take the moment to attack. She will prove to Damian that she has something running inside of her, something inside to pull apart and rework and rebirth, instead of the cold porcelain she seems to be made out of.

It would prove to him that she is alive.

Instead, Damian walks out of the room without event.


End file.
